


broken hymns and starlight

by sinningjul (Julx3tte)



Series: Sylvgrid NSFW Weekend [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff and Smut, Minor Injuries, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Smut, sex in a cabin, slyvgrid nsfw weekend 3 - roads, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25515349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julx3tte/pseuds/sinningjul
Summary: He woke to the feeling of being shaken.“Sylvain, Sylvain!” Her voice was desperate and scared.His eyes jolted open to the sight of Ingrid, still in armor clad, rolling him onto his side and checking for injuries.“I think I’m okay,” he said, sitting up. “Take off your armor, make sure you’re fine.”Sylvain and Ingrid escape from battle with their heads on and their enemies dead and their bodies whole. feat. checking for injuries, post battle relief, and, technically, a road
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Sylvgrid NSFW Weekend [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847143
Comments: 12
Kudos: 40
Collections: Sylvgrid NSFW weekend 2020





	broken hymns and starlight

**Author's Note:**

> not as filthy

_ A complete clusterfuck _ , Sylvain thought as his horse sprinted through the forest, cutting down the odd branch blocking his way.  _ I hate assassinations _ . It was far easier to fight a full scale battle and have some semblance of order than to lead the tip of the spear to kill someone and leave before getting caught.

They managed -- the professor sent Sylvain and Ingrid through the flank to lop off the enemy’s head while she and Dimitri held position, drawing their main body to them. Sylvain had gotten just close enough to use his relic before escaping, weaving through knights and arrows and spells.

The rest of the Lions had a different escape plan, and they’d all meet up the next day, but Ingrid was supposed to be just behind him. He took a peek behind his shoulder, but couldn’t see past the treeline into the skies. The last time he saw her, she was yelling at him to run while slashing arrows out of the sky and dodging thunderbolts from the warlock that had barely escaped Sylvain’s blade on his way out. 

After five hours of riding, everything about his body hurt. His hip ached, and he’d taken brutal hits during his escape and hoped he wasn’t bleeding out. At worst, Ingrid should only be a half hour behind him. He refused to consider any alternative.

No, he’d get to the safe house and check himself out and wait patiently for her.

The destination was a small shack on their side of the border, just far enough that any scouts trailing them would spend a half day returning and another half day bringing more forces. By then, he and Ingrid would be gone, safely back at the Blue Lions camp. 

By the time it entered his view, Sylvain could barely sit on his saddle. He managed to tie up his horse and dragged himself inside, stripping his armor without care and passing his hands on his body to check for bleeding. 

Later, Ingrid would do a more meaningful job. For now, knowing his back was probably torn apart and that there was sharp pain on his calf as he took steps was enough. Sylvain made it to the cot and promptly passed out. 

* * *

He woke to the feeling of being shaken.

“Sylvain, Sylvain!” Her voice was desperate and scared.

His eyes jolted open to the sight of Ingrid, still in armor clad, rolling him onto his side and checking for injuries.

It was a rule they had for years to always check. 

A few years ago, Felix had come back from a mock battle without realizing he’d taken a massive splinter to the side. A training sword had split and while disarming its owner, had hit Felix and broken off. They didn’t realize until he’d gone to sit down for lunch and someone bumped into him. After that, they always broke into pairs to check for any lingering cuts or bruises.

“I think I’m okay,” he said, sitting up. “Take off your armor, make sure you’re fine.”

Sylvain had seen Ingrid doff her armor dozens of times, but it had never been this bad of an escape from battle. Ingrid’s armor was dented and scratched - there were soot marks and craters where  _ thoron _ had hit her, and more than one broken arrowhead was lodged on her pauldrons. 

The image of Ingrid being shot out of the sky without anyone watching her sent an icy wave through Sylvain’s chest. Of course there was always the risk that one of them wouldn’t come back after a battle. But they always kept line of sight with each other. 

No, she was here now, and alive, and he’d make sure she wasn’t bleeding.

Ingrid removed her heavy pauldrons and her chest plate first. The tunic she wore underneath had no dark patches, but it didn’t mean Ingrid was in perfect condition. Her collar and neck were bruised, and scratches and small cuts lined her forearms. She’d taken a bad hit to the thigh, too, and even though her long boots had taken the worst of it, there was a scabbed gash. 

“I have to clean this,” he said, getting up to fetch a pail of water and a rag. “Hang on.”

Sylvain quickly pulled water from a small well and sat it in the corner of the shack that served as a care station. It was paved, with a small drain and enough space for one person to wash. “You’re alive.”

“Barely. I didn’t see you get away.” Ingrid wiped the dirt from her eyes and examined him.

“I had to take a complicated path. They set up an ambush after we got our mark,” he said, wringing the cloth.

“I took the long way by flying straight up out of arrow range.” Ingrid’s boots made it to the floor with a heavy thud. “Almost passed out on my pegasus. She’s hurt, probably needs a splint, but will be fine.”

“I’m out of spells,” Sylvain said, bending down to examine her leg. “Have to fix you up manually.”

His body hurt and it made it hard to breathe, hard to speak and say more than the bare minimum. But each word carried more than their meaning. They were safe for now - safe enough to stop and pause and remember they were alive. 

He tied a makeshift bandage around Ingrid’s thigh and let her wipe the caked on blood and dirt off of his face.

“Ditch the shirt Sylvain, let me make sure.”

He threw off his tunic. It was bad. His back was purple and bruised and Ingrid winced the sight of his mangled leg. She cleaned what she could, but this was an injury they’d have to make do with today and take to Mercedes tomorrow.

“Not good,” she said. “You’re gonna have trouble riding tomorrow.”

“Maybe we should send my horse to call for someone,” he replied. “If no one comes tomorrow we can fly out. Think your pegasus can take both of us?”

“Not far, not fast,” she said. “Let me go feed them.”

Ingrid left quietly, leaving Sylvain, half dressed and bandaged, to take a deep breath and think. 

Relief washed through him. They were safe, safe as they could be for the day, and free from mortal injury. Tomorrow they’d get back to camp and get looked over, but all he wanted to do was hold her and touch her and live the fact that they were both still alive.

Sylvain stood, stripped the rest of the liner and shirt he wore under his armor, and folded them neatly on top of a crate. He did the same with Ingrid’s, and stacked their armor up against the wall to make it easy to don tomorrow.

Then, he took the rag and washed as much dirt as he could off his body

* * *

“I’ve finished with the horses, I’ll send yours out after we slee-” Ingrid said, walking back into the shack. She stopped on her tracks seeing Sylvain standing, body red and purple and whole. Her voice became a whisper. “You’re okay.” 

Sylvain looked over at her, and she was suddenly aware of how warm it was in the room. Sylvain was down to just his underclothes, but she still had on her tunic and the thick socks that protected her feet from the old wooden floors.

He had the audacity to blush at her and run his hands through his hair.

“We’re okay,” he said, taking a step closer to her.

She held her arm out. “Wait, let me wash up.”

He moved to sit on the bed and let her take the small corner with the bucket of water. Ingrid stripped the tunic and her underclothes off and let the cold water run down her body. 

She didn’t mind being naked around him - they’d seen enough body parts over the years to not care. But she could feel his gaze on her skin and it sent a creeping blush up her neck.

They weren’t… an item. Nothing of the sort. War was too heavy and complicated enough to navigate relationships. But they weren’t nothing either. Sylvain had changed after 5 years away from Garreg Mach and he’d become more thoughtful, more caring, less perilous with his own life. Actually, it seemed like he put a lot more into what mattered to him.

Including her.

He’d spared her the worst of his flirting but it was obvious their friendship had changed in the last few months of battles and following the professor through Fodlan, cutting down the empire’s forces and reinstating Dimitri. 

It had changed for her, too. Sylvain’s new maturity made it easier to trust him, and he proved worthy of her trust. If it weren’t wartime, she’d try to put words to the complicated simmering that ran through her stomach everytime he looked at her with his soft eyes, and with every grin pointed her way.

But for now, with what little they could spare, small acts of vulnerability were enough.

So she bathed in his gaze and re-wrapped the bandage on her leg and added her tunic and socks to the small pile of their clothes before joining him on the cot.

He wrapped his arms around her immediately and pressed his lips where her neck and shoulders met.

* * *

She was here. She was alive. They’d be fine.

Those were the only thoughts that ran through Sylvain’s mind as his lips moved automatically, kissing every inch of blushed neck that he could to remind himself that Ingrid was here with him, that they’d be fine. That she was still alive.

Layers of worry, like weights off his shoulders, fell with every touch.

Sleeping together was an unspoken thing. They’d never talked about it, never initiated it, but never stopped it in the months since they’d reunited. 

He couldn’t explain it if he tried. For more than a decade the thought of Ingrid as a romantic partner was taboo - first she was Glenn’s betrothed, then she was someone he could never hurt the way he let himself hurt the others he dated, and then she was gone, locked in Galatea while he had a territory to defend and an army to lead.

Five years later, the mere sight of her made Sylvian’s chest burn and his hands itch to hold her soft skin and pull her into his embrace.

It wasn’t even worth trying to explain it -- not with how little time they had, not with the real risk of never being able to put the right words together anyway.

Sylvain had always been a man of action, and that’s what he did.

So, he kissed her, let his lips run lines up and down up her neck and behind her ears and used his hands to massage gently the patches of skin that weren’t bruised. He savored every sigh she produced.

And he relished the feeling of her fingers gripping his torso and weaving their way into his hair, drawing him closer to her body.

“Let me on top,” he whispered, gently helping Ingrid lay down on the cot and positioning himself between her legs. “Back hurts.”

Ingrid responded by wrapping her legs around his waist. “Don’t strain yourself,” she whispered. 

He rolled slightly to avoid the bandage on her leg and she left her calf just short of actually touching his back because of a deep cut. It was awkward, but it was fine. Sylvain was ready to devour her, every inch of her skin that could be redder, more flushed, that belonged on his lips. Sylvain rolled his hips against hers, tracing around one of the bruises on her collarbone.

She sighed into his ear and a jolt of lightning passed through his spine and right into his hips.

“Take off your underwear Sylvain,” she asked, releasing him for a moment. He pulled back, shuffling to free himself, and moved back to straddle her, but Ingrid reached down to touch him before he could. A deep groan resonated from the depths of his throat.

“Ing, babe, I need you.”

Ingrid pulled him towards her and lined him up, and Sylvain’s mouth found its way to hers. One thumb framed her jaw while he danced his tongue on her lower lip, enjoying the feeling of Ingrid’s hands weaving through his hair and gripping tight.

“Beautiful, you’re so perfect,” he said, keeping himself just too far away for Ingrid to pull herself against. He’d wait -- wait until she was ready, until she was saying his name like a prayer and he couldn’t help it. For hours he’d wondered whether she’d made it out and held hope beyond hope; now he could show her what it meant.

* * *

“Sylvain, use your hands please,” she said.

He was waiting, she knew it. Like a hunter, Sylvain loved to tease her until she was near begging for him, and she allowed it if only because it was worth savoring every night they returned from battle whole and together. 

The last day had been a nightmare of an attack, and she wasn't sure he’d made it away safely. There wasn’t time - not with defending herself and getting out of range of their spells, not with making sure they’d gotten the mark. She yelled at him to go and turned to defend him.

Sylvain used one arm to prop himself up and the other to trail a circle on her ribcage, finding the swell of her breast. His fingers rolled the peaks of them gently, sending a wave of heat through her belly. 

The feeling of Sylvain touching her body in three places at once was overwhelming. Her legs, already tired from the long day’s ride, shuddered and shook and gripped his, and she couldn’t control the way her voice gasped and whispered his name.

Sylvain’s touch was just right - he knew how to read the amount of pressure she desired and how to tease her body and prepare her for him, and somehow made it easy for her to touch him despite not having done so before. 

Until recently she had never imagined what it would be like to sleep with Sylvain, not until a few months ago, and the reality was nothing like she expected. There was never any jealousy towards the women he dated, but whatever he offered her now was the best of it all.

“Sylvian, please,” she managed, hips dancing for more friction, more contact. “Please.”

“Yeah Ing? What do you need?” His deep voice so close to her ear, throat vibrating against her, sent shocks of pleasure through her. She felt more frantic, more desperate for him than during the battle. 

“More, slowly” she said desperately. “Please. Was so scared.”

Sylvain pressed his hips into hers at an excruciating leisure, letting her feel the whole length of him inside her. “Here now. I’m here,” he whispered, kissing her cheek and caressing her head with his free arm.

“Don’t leave,” she said, biting her own lips. She could feel the tears behind her eyelids, from both the relief and the slow pressure between her legs. Sylvain’s other hand continued to run slow circles just above where their hips touched, and it drove her mad. 

“Forever. I’m yours forever,” he promised. It wasn’t a promise he’d be able to keep, but he promised it anyway, and the thought of it sent her close to the edge.

“Almost lost you,” she said through her own moan, “stay.”

“Yes, yes Ing” he said. He was shivering now, and his thumb pressed into her jaw as if he was having trouble holding on.

“Close?” she asked, pulling her hips up towards him and using her legs to pull him in closer. The response was worth the wince of pain from the bruises on her body: Sylvain’s eyes, which had been brilliantly pointed at her, rolled to the back of his head.

He nodded into her neck, biting her softly. She could feel the muscles in her stomach tensing from his attention. “Close,” he grunted, voice breaking.

“Deeper,” she asked. Sylvain obliged and the feeling of all of the pressure he could muster right at her most sensitive parts was enough. Ingrid shut her eyes as her body shuddered. She bit Sylvain’s lips to stifle the sound of her orgasm, nearly drawing blood. 

Sylvain finished as she crested and collapsed on top of her, biting back a groan of his own. 

* * *

“Perfect, you’re so perfect,” he said, thumbing her lips and adjusting so that his chin rested on her shoulders.

“Mmmm,” she replied. The sleepiness in her voice was enough. They settled into a comfortable silence, arms wrapped tight around hers. Her hands found his and squeezed. 

“Can’t say it yet,” he said, eventually, kissing gently against her jaw line. “But I will.”

“I know,” she replied. 

Soon he’d say everything he needed to. He’d promise everything he had - Gautier’s fortunes, all of Fodlan, all of his love. But until peace came, these moments would have to be enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to post this tomorrow, but I have broken my sleep and am posting this now because I have been bullied by the sylvgrid servr and also because I need to write for prompt 2 still. Hope you enjoy!! 
> 
> join the sylvgrid server https://discord.gg/PzD94p6


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